His gaze snaps up at the sound, at Bruce's sudden nearness. Its a testament to how under the weather he's feeling that he didn't notice his approach, another thing to add to his list deciding if drinking the way he did is worth it. The gold of his eyes flick up to find Bruce's bruised face, lingering before dropping to the plate. His stomach rolls over once more, nausea in the wake of the greasy smell.

You have a very big scale to balance.

"I'm a scale that can't be balanced. I was defeated, I'll never be whole."

Vanitas sets both drinks on the counter to free his hands, but takes half a step back out of Bruce's personal space. It might look like running, and in some fashion it is. The vulnerability of being caught shirtless and then snuck up on lingers in him, even if he isn't actively thinking about them just yet. He takes the plate by its lip and pulls it closer to himself, then narrows his eyes.

"Where's yours?"